of his niece the Duchess of Longueville; the other was a
convent of Jesuits and was the property — a by no means
unusual circumstance — of these worthy fathers.
At four o’clock D’Artagnan recommenced his journey. He
proceeded slowly and in deep reverie. Planchet also was lost
in thought, but the subject of their reflections was not the
same.
One word which their landlady had pronounced had given a
particular turn to D’Artagnan’s deliberations; this was the
name of Madame de Longueville.
That name was indeed one to inspire imagination and produce
thought. Madame de Longueville was one of the highest ladies
in the realm; she was also one of the greatest beauties at
court. She had formerly been suspected of an intimacy of too
tender a nature with Coligny, who, for her sake, had been
killed in a duel, in the Place Royale, by the Duc de Guise.
She was now connected by bonds of a political nature with
the Prince de Marsillac, the eldest son of the old Duc de
Rochefoucauld, whom she was trying to inspire with an enmity
toward the Duc de Conde, her brother-in-law, whom she now
hated mortally.
D’Artagnan thought of all these matters. He remembered how
at the Louvre he had often seen, as she passed by him in the
full radiance of her dazzling charms, the beautiful Madame
de Longueville. He thought of Aramis, who, without
possessing any greater advantages than himself, had formerly
been the lover of Madame de Chevreuse, who had been to a
former court what Madame de Longueville was in that day; and
he wondered how it was that there should be in the world
people who succeed in every wish, some in ambition, others
in love, whilst others, either from chance, or from
ill-luck, or from some natural defect or impediment, remain
half-way upon the road toward fulfilment of their hopes and
expectations.
He was confessing to himself that he belonged to the latter
unhappy class, when Planchet approached and said:
“I will lay a wager, your honor, that you and I are thinking
of the same thing.”
“I doubt it, Planchet,” replied D’Artagnan, “but what are
you thinking of?”
“I am thinking, sir, of those desperate looking men who were
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drinking in the inn where we rested.”
“Always cautious, Planchet.”
“‘Tis instinct, your honor.”
“Well, what does your instinct tell you now?”
“Sir, my instinct told me that those people were assembled
there for some bad purpose; and I was reflecting on what my
instinct had told me, in the darkest corner of the stable,
when a man wrapped in a cloak and followed by two other men,
came in.”
“Ah ah!” said D’Artagnan, Planchet’s recital agreeing with
his own observations. “Well?”
“One of these two men said, `He must certainly be at Noisy,
or be coming there this evening, for I have seen his
servant.’
“`Art thou sure? ‘ said the man in the cloak.
“`Yes, my prince.'”
“My prince!” interrupted D’Artagnan.
“Yes, `my prince;’ but listen. `If he is here’ — this is
what the other man said — `let’s see decidedly what to do
with him.’
“`What to do with him?’ answered the prince.
“`Yes, he’s not a man to allow himself to be taken anyhow;
he’ll defend himself.’
“`Well, we must try to take him alive. Have you cords to
bind him with and a gag to stop his mouth?’
“`We have.’
“`Remember that he will most likely be disguised as a
horseman.’
“`Yes, yes, my lord; don’t be uneasy.’
“`Besides, I shall be there.’
“`You will assure us that justice —- ‘
“`Yes, yes! I answer for all that,’ the prince said.
“`Well, then, we’ll do our best.’ Having said that, they
went out of the stable.”
“Well, what matters all that to us?” said D’Artagnan. “This
is one of those attempts that happen every day.”
“Are you sure that we are not its objects?”
“We? Why?”
“Just remember what they said. `I have seen his servant,’
said one, and that applies very well to me.”
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“Well?”
“`He must certainly be at Noisy, or be coming there this